


Tender Payment For Our Sins

by foxtales



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, American Civil War, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 16:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtales/pseuds/foxtales
Summary: This a birthday fic for babydazzle which also coincides with her fic prompt from my request post ages ago. As per usual with me, it went from a teensy ficlet to a multi-parter. ::facepalm:: Happy Birthday, Baby! Hope you enjoy this! ::hugs::Title is from Tired Pony's song, "Get on the Road".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This a birthday fic for babydazzle which also coincides with her fic prompt from my request post ages ago. As per usual with me, it went from a teensy ficlet to a multi-parter. ::facepalm:: Happy Birthday, Baby! Hope you enjoy this! ::hugs::
> 
> Title is from Tired Pony's song, "Get on the Road".

8 April 1862, six miles SW of Shiloh, Tennessee

“Boyd!”

Assistant Surgeon William Boyd, 4th Tennessee Regiment, stopped in his tracks as he heard the unmistakable voice of his commanding officer, Colonel Nathan Bedford Forrest boom out over the camp. “Sir?” he said, turning to face the man. He was not prepared for the sight that greeted him - Colonel Forrest on a litter, blood soaking his uniform, the litter, and leaving a trail behind the procession of men who were accompanying him.

“Good God, Colonel, what happened?” he cried as he ran to Forrest’s side, lifting up the edge of the man's jacket and pulling back the blood-soaked shirt to try to find the extent of the damage.

“Some damned Union kid got a lucky shot,” Forrest muttered, grunting in pain as Boyd palpated the area. “Billy, if you do that again, I will court-martial you!”

“Empty threat if you’re dead, sir,” Billy retorted. “Get me some laudanum,” he snapped at one of the infantrymen standing about gawping. The boy jumped and made a run for the nearest surgery tent. “You,” he commanded another boy, “Go into that last tent and get my case. It says W. Boyd. Go. Hurry.”

“Where do you want him, sir?” One of the soldiers carrying the litter asked.

“Clear off that table and put him on it, I need to keep him outside to be able to see well enough. Where’s my Goddamned laudanum?” Billy shouted even as the young soldier came running out of a surgery tent, dark bottle in hand.

“Here, sorry, sir, Surgeon Wells was using it, sir—“

Billy snatched the bottle out of the boy’s hand, uncorked it and held it to Forrest’s lips. “Drink it.”

“How much?” Forrest panted in between sips.

“Until I tell you to stop, Colonel. Now, drink.”

Forrest looked up at Billy, who glared down at him, his eyes daring the Colonel to disobey. Finally, Forrest nodded and began to drink again. Billy held the bottle to the man’s mouth until his lips went slack and the liquid began to dribble out the side of his mouth.

“If you need the litter, take it,” Boyd told the second boy as he came trotting up with a case in his hand.

“We don’t need it, sir. All that’s left out there is Union trash, and they can rot.”

He would have taken the soldier to task, but as his commanding officer was bleeding to death in front of him, he hadn’t the time or the inclination. “Then go away. You’re crowding me.”

The men moved away, but not too far. They’d formed a protective circle around the operating table, holding watch over their fallen leader. At some point during the surgery, Billy became aware of an influx of soldiers – wearing blue. The Union Army had arrived. He paid no real attention until he heard raised voices and the cocking of weapons. He looked up from his work, one hand holding the edges of the wound apart, the other inside of Forrest just above his hip, probing with his forceps. The bullet was eluding him so far and he was getting concerned that he wouldn't be able to find it before it was too late.

“Be quiet, all of you, Goddamn your eyes!” he shouted angrily. “I’m trying to save a man’s life here!”

The ruckus settled down and Billy turned his concentration back onto his patient. He worked steadily, finally locating and digging out the bullet before doing what he could to repair the extensive damage done to the muscle and tissue from the entry point all the way through Forrest's body to where the bullet had lodged beside the spinal cord. Finally, he dressed the outer wound with carbolic acid, pressed the cleanest lint bandage he had over it and wrapped a slightly dirtier one around the colonel's waist to keep the lint in place. Afterwards, he sank down on his haunches by the table, wiping his gore-covered hands on his operating coat. He was exhausted and starving. He hadn’t eaten since that morning, and he felt like he could fall asleep right there, leaning on the leg of the table.

“What’s your name, son?” A quiet but firm voice asked.

“William Boyd. Assistant surgeon for the 4th Tennessee Regiment, under this man here, Colonel Nathan Bedford Forrest."

“Will he live?”

“I don’t know,” Boyd said tiredly, not looking up. “I’ve done all I can do. It’s in God’s hands now.”

“What was the extent of the damage?”

Boyd finally looked up to see a tall man in a Union officer’s coat. “The bullet was lodged right up against his spinal cord. Even if he survives any infection that might come, there’s no guarantee he will walk again,” he said, shaking his head.

“As you said, his fate is in God’s hands now, Boyd.” The man reached out a hand. “Colonel Jesse Hildebrand. I command the 77th Ohio Infantry. We’re in charge of this encampment now.”

Boyd allowed the officer to help him to his feet. “You’re welcome to it, Colonel,” he said bitterly as he started to walk away.

“Hold on, Boyd, I need your help.”

“Sir?”

“I have a man; he was injured at Shiloh. I need you to take a look at him and see what, if anything, you can do for him.”

Boyd heaved a heavy sigh. “Lead the way.”

“Thank you.”

Boyd followed Hildebrand to the outside edge of the camp where there was a man stretched out on the ground, his face twisted in pain. He knelt down and removed the bloody bandage from around the man’s thigh. The edges of the entry wound were already puffed and angry-looking. He turned the leg as gently as he could to see if there was an exit wound; there wasn’t.

“His shoulder as well,” Hildebrand said quietly.

Boyd pulled the strip of blood-soaked cloth from the wound, wincing at the sucking noise it made as it stuck to the sweaty skin.

The man’s head turned and his eyes opened – dazed blue, dulled with pain, meeting Boyd’s tired green eyes.

“He’s going to try to help you, Monaghan,” Hildebrand said evenly.

“C…can you s…save the leg?” Came the weak English-accented voice.

“I’ll bloody well try. That you can count on,” Boyd promised. Union soldier or no, the man needed his help and his expertise, and William Boyd never turned his back on those in need.


	2. Chapter 2

“Is it safe for you to operate right now?” Colonel Hildebrand asked, looking pointedly at Boyd’s exhausted features.

Boyd grunted. “I’ve worked under worse conditions, sir. He wants any chance of keeping that leg, this will be done now.” He looked around the area, but found nowhere suitable for what he needed. “Best move Colonel Forrest and put Monaghan on that table.”

Hildebrand nodded and signalled his men to comply. Boyd wiped his hands on his coat again as they walked back across the camp.

“How long since he was wounded, Colonel?”

Hildebrand frowned. “Leg was at about one in the afternoon yesterday. Shoulder a few hours after.”

Boyd nodded, his mind already on what he might be able to do to save Monaghan’s life. As they neared the table where Forrest still lay, Boyd looked around, noting only Union soldiers were moving about the camp now.

“You there, get me two buckets of water,” he commanded one before turning to another. “And you, get me some clean cloth. Hurry!” Both soldiers jumped and hurried off to do his bidding, and Boyd turned back to see Hildebrand's eyebrow raised.

“Used to giving orders, are you, Boyd?”

“When it comes to medicine, Colonel? Yes, I am,” he said matter-of-factly as he supervised the transfer of his patients with an eagle eye.

“Hm,” Hildebrand responded, non-committal. “Any chance of actually saving the leg?”

“There’s always a chance,” Boyd replied, unwilling to concede any other possibility right then, especially not when the patient stood a chance to hear him.

“Slim, though,” Hildebrand said, shaking his head. “More chance of dying from the rot by now. Told him he should’ve let Hall take the damned thing and be done with it.”

“Yes, that sort of decision is always easier when you are not the one who stands to lose the limb, I’d imagine,” Boyd said sharply as he removed the dirty bandages from Monaghan’s leg and shoulder.

He could feel Hildebrand’s cold gaze between his shoulder blades, but didn’t care. Monaghan’s eyes had opened again.

Boyd reached for the previously discarded bottle of laudanum and uncorked it. “You’ll need to drink this, lad.”

“Don’t want it,” Monaghan slurred.

Boyd’s eyebrows drew together as he scowled. “You may not want it, but there’s no way I’m cutting as close to the femoral artery as I’ll have to in order to get that bullet out with you awake. If you so much as twitch while I’m in there, it could sever the artery and you’ll bleed to death. So, do us both a favour and drink it.”

“Don’t you have chloroform or ether?” Hildebrand demanded.

Boyd’s whole body tightened at the question and he threw an angry look over his shoulder at Hildebrand. “Do you imagine I’d be offering up laudanum if anything better was available?” he snapped before turning his annoyed attention back onto his patient. “And _you_ will drink this.”

“Don’t want…”

“You’ve mistaken me for someone who cares about what you want right now," Boyd growled. "Drink it or I walk away and leave your leg to rot along with the rest of you.”

“How dare you—“ Hildebrand was spluttering in indignation behind them.

There was more to this situation, this patient, than what was being presented, Boyd could tell. Natural, considering he was the enemy, but he was also a doctor and he couldn’t do his job if he didn’t know the details. He gestured Hildebrand to silence with an impatient wave of his hand and addressed his patient. “Do you react poorly to laudanum? Will it kill you to take it?”

Monaghan’s eyes closed. He took an unsteady breath, then shook his head.

Boyd deliberately softened his tone as he lifted Monaghan’s head gently, holding the bottle to his lips. “Then drink it down and let me help you.”

Monaghan sighed and began to drink.

***

Boyd jerked awake as someone shook his shoulder lightly. “Wha’s tha’?” he mumbled as he rubbed a hand over his face.

“I said, 'have you had anything to eat yet today?'” Hildebrand repeated.

“This morning, aye,” Boyd answered, giving himself a little shake. “What time is it? ”

“Nineteen hundred. ”

“Nineteen hundred?” Boyd cried, jumping to his feet.

“You looked exhausted earlier so I let you sleep a bit. You need to eat and get some more rest. I need you in top form to care for my soldier.”

“Monaghan is not my only patient,” Boyd shot back, irritated. “Nor is he the most important one.”

“Colonel Forrest isn’t going anywhere either.”

“I’ll eat _after_ I’ve made my rounds,” he scowled mulishly.

Hildebrand shrugged as Boyd brushed by him. “Suit yourself.”

***

“Boyd.”

He startled at the hoarse whisper. Recovering, he looked down at Forrest. “You’re a bit worse for wear, sir.”

Forrest swallowed painfully. “Thirsty.”

Billy's gaze swept the tent, spying a young Union soldier hovering near the tent flap. “You there – bring me some drinkable water.” He watched the boy scurry out the tent before looking down to see a pained smile on the Colonel’s face. “What?”

“Keep that up and they’ll eventually figure out that you outrank all but six men in this camp, Major.”

“You’re delirious, sir,” Billy replied, smiling as he shook his head.

Forrest snorted, but it turned into a pained groan.

“I know it hurts,” Billy said quietly. He held up a dark bottle. “I’m going to mix some laudanum in with your water. Rest is the most important thing for you right now.”

It was a sign of his commanding officer’s pain that he didn’t argue and drank down the mixture as soon as the dipper was held to his mouth. He stayed until Forrest was asleep and then went to check on his other patients.

When he made it to Monaghan, Boyd could tell the man was obviously in pain - his eyes were tightly closed, his lips compressed until there was no color to them. Both dressings were bloody. “Goddamn it,” he muttered.

“Hurts,” Monaghan panted at him as he palpated the edges of both wounds.

“I know it does,” Boyd said gently. “I have a bit of laudanum left—“

“No.”

“The withdrawal is going to be bad anyway. It won’t be any worse with this low of a dose following up.”

Monaghan’s eyes flew to meet Boyd’s. “How…”

“I _am_ a doctor, lad.”

“No more. Please.”

Boyd nodded. “All right, then. I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours.”

Monaghan sighed raggedly. “You know where to find me.”

Billy snorted softly as he walked toward the front of the tent. It took a hell of a man to joke on a surgery recovery cot. His stomach growled and he remembered it had been fourteen hours since he’d had anything other than water. Food and then rest. An order was an order after all.


	3. Chapter 3

9 April 1862, 6 miles SW of Shiloh, Tennessee 07:00

Billy sighed heavily as he looked down at Monaghan; pale, shaking, sweaty, shallow uneven breathing. The lad wasn't looking good at all, and that wasn't even looking at his wounds. The worst was yet to come. Billy knew that within the next few hours Monaghan would likely begin to convulse from the pain, which would only exacerbate his gunshot wounds. Billy might have insisted on more laudanum despite Monaghan's protestations, if it hadn't been for the not slim chance that the lad was going to die from his wounds anyway. Billy was nothing if not pragmatic, and the conservation of whatever pain killers they had was too important.

He removed the stained dressings from Monaghan's shoulder and saw the angry red edges and the pockets of white dotting the inner areas. He cursed under his breath, not even bothering to palpate, it wouldn't do anything but cause further pain to his patient. He re-dressed the wound, and didn't even bother checking the leg. There was nothing else to be done until the worst of the laudanum withdrawal was over.

9 April 1862, Shiloh, Tennessee 09:30

Brigadier General William T. Sherman paced the length his tent while Colonel Jesse Hildebrand stood at parade rest, waiting for whatever his commanding officer had to say. It took longer than he expected for Sherman to speak, and that didn't bode well.

"So what you're telling me is that Dominic has two potentially mortal wounds."

"Essentially, sir."

Sherman nodded to himself, grimacing. "His father is not going to deal well with that news."

"I don't expect he will, sir."

"Is there anything to be done to help him along?"

Hildebrand hesitated.

"What is it, man? Speak up."

"One of the Confederate surgeons, sir - Boyd is his name - Monaghan would already be dead if it weren't for his skill. He's also the reason Colonel Forrest is still alive, sir."

"Get him here, then."

"He's--"

"That's an order, Colonel. Senator Monaghan's son is not going to die under my command if I can help it. Get it done."

"Yes, sir," Hildebrand replied dutifully before snapping a perfect salute and exiting the tent. He'd seen Boyd with Forrest - there was a unique relationship between the two men, and Boyd would not willingly leave his commanding officer. ' _A rock and a hard place_ ', he thought, shaking his head as he moved off toward the horses.

9 April 1862, 6 miles SW of Shiloh 13:45

Billy had already made his rounds, consulted and browbeaten when necessary, and checked on Monaghan. The lad was in a sad state; it was ugly and only going to get worse. He'd spent some time that morning drafting a list of instructions for whoever Monaghan's next caretaker might be, certain that they would be ignored, but wanting to make the effort for the stupidly stubborn young man. He was not confident in the abilities of most doctors he ran into these days, no matter the battlefield affiliation, and he'd spent a good amount of time trying to fix others' mistakes. Then there'd been the ridiculous announcement made only an hour ago. To Billy, it seemed stupidity ruled the day once again. He shook his head as he sought out his commanding officer's bedside.

"What did you do to me, Bill?" Forrest said, only half-joking as Billy came up to him.

"Tried to fix what some bloody Yank did to you," he snapped irritably, not even trying to keep his voice low.

"If anyone gets to be cranky here, it's going to be the man who was shot," Forrest said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"You have no idea, sir," Billy said, followed by an annoyed huff.

"Report, then."

Billy looked down at him appraisingly.

Forrest smirked. "That's an order, in case you didn't realize. What's got you wound up?"

"You're aware that we've surrendered?"

"Yes."  
  
"And that we've all been made to sign a pledge that we'll report to them by this afternoon, at which point we'll be sent to the nearest Union prison camp?"

"Not you, Bill."

"What do you mean not me? I'm as much a prisoner as anyone else here."

"Hildebrand told me he'd be taking you with him."

Billy gaped for a moment. "He can't do that - I need to stay with you, sir, especially if you're to be moved!"

"Hildebrand thinks differently."

"He's not my commanding officer. I'll put on Donovan's extra uniform - none of them would know the difference."

Forrest smiled weakly. "Billy, everyone who's been in this camp for longer than ten minutes knows who you are _and_ how to avoid you."

"Precisely. I'll put on the uniform, change my accent, and smile at everyone. No one will even suspect."

Forrest started to chuckle, but it turned into a pained groan. "Don't make me laugh, Boyd."

"Pardon me, sir," came the dry reply.

"Is there anything else that you can conceivably do for me?"

Billy's jaw clenched. "No. You'll either live or you won't."

"Then, as your Commanding Officer, I order you to follow Hildebrand's orders." Forrest's voice was weak, but the words still carried weight. "Now be a good soldier for once in your contrary life, and do what you're told. I will be very disappointed if I find out that you have disobeyed me in this. A man with your rank--"

"Respectfully, sir, I don't give a good goddamn about my rank; I never have."

"I am well aware of that, Boyd," Forrest replied as forcefully as possible, what little energy he'd had rapidly draining. "However, you are bound by that rank and everything that it entails, including following orders you don't necessarily agree with when they are handed down to you by a superior officer."

Billy sighed heavily and then stood up to leave. "Save your energy, sir. I'll go with the sodding Yanks."

"Knew you'd see it my way."

Billy offered a non-committal grunt and left.

Hildebrand was waiting for him outside the tent.

"I can see by the frown that you're aware you'll be coming with us."

"Yes, sir," Billy bit out, coldly polite.

"Good. Be ready to leave in thirty minutes, Boyd. You'll be in the first wave to transfer to Shiloh. That way you'll be set up when the patients start arriving."

"Yes, sir," Billy repeated before turning to leave. "First smart thing anybody in charge has done today," he muttered, just loud enough for Hildebrand to hear.

"Get on with it, Boyd," Hildebrand said calmly, not rising to the bait.

Billy scowled and headed off to collect his belongings.


	4. Chapter 4

9 April 1862, Shiloh, Tennessee 16:15

Billy would never have admitted anything of the sort, but the Union camp was much better stocked and run than the Confederate camp he'd left two hours ago. They still had chloroform, for one, and he'd immediately begun mentally calculating doses for the worst of the transferring patients. Billy and the head doctor, a no-nonsense chap called Dunston, had had discussions on the incoming patients and also on the abilities and short-comings of the transferring medical personnel. Billy had told Dunston that he wanted to keep care duty for Monaghan and Forrest--for as long as the colonel was kept in the camp; Dunston had agreed.

Billy looked down at Monaghan, a fierce scowl on his face. As he'd thought, moving the young man had made his condition worse, and he wondered whether the lad would make it through the day.

"You trying to scare death away with that face?" came the harsh whisper that now passed for Monaghan's voice.

Billy's lips reluctantly twitched. "Is it working?"

"Don't think so. You'll just have to try harder."

"Too bloody right, I will. I'll not let him take you easily."

Even Monaghan's sigh sounded pained. "Reckon it's more to do with me than you, yeah?"

"You'd not be here being contrary if you weren't a fighter. Now just you keep that energy for healing."

Monaghan's eyes slid shut and a few moments later his face went slack. Billy brushed the matted hair off his forehead and told himself it was so that he could feel for his temperature. He almost believed it.

*

Billy's next stop was Colonel Forrest. His commanding officer was white with pain after having being relocated, even though he was lying on an actual mattress.

"Looks like they're giving you a bit of preferential treatment, sir."

"I'm worth more to them alive."

"If that were the case, they'd not be keeping me behind when they transfer you to the prison camp, sir."

"You really are a piece of work, Bill."

Billy snorted. "Thank you, sir. Now get some rest and I'll be back to check on you later this afternoon."

Forrest smiled weakly and waved him away. Billy wondered how much time he had left before his commanding officer was sent to a prison camp.

*

13 April 1862, Tennessee 18:00

Billy sat on a tree stump, his head in his hands. It had been four days since the surrender at Fallen Timbers--as the Union soldiers referred to the skirmish--and Colonel Forrest, separate from the rest of the Confederates captured that day, had been sent North with a special detachment two days ago. It was probably not very Christian of him, but he hoped that Forrest was rescued. Being interred in a prison camp would kill him, no question, and Billy had worked too damned hard only to have it all wasted. It had been a bloody miracle that Forrest had even survived, let alone been in any sort of shape for travel. Billy's skill with surgery and packing a wound--something he hated leaving to American doctors as they seemed to not even know about herbal packs and poultices--had made the difference.

Then there had been Lieutenant Dominic Monaghan. Monaghan had come through the worst of his withdrawal and infection symptoms, even when most others felt he would not. Billy had sensed that the man was a fighter, though, had counted on it. He'd spent the last four days getting to know the soldier; he had to admit he liked the man--liked his spirit and attitude.

A shadow fell over him, and he looked up into Monaghan's pale face. "Christ, sit the hell down," Billy commanded, moving over to allow Monaghan to sit on most of the stump.

"Bill."

"Dominic. I thought I told you no heavy exertions."

"Who knew it would be such an exertion to walk a few feet?" Monaghan's voice was weak.

"You did, you contrary arse. Is it just the flouting of orders, or do you really have a wish to set your health back?"

"You're so prickly, Doctor Boyd."

"It's your health to do with as you please, is it?" When Monaghan nodded, Billy continued, "Not on my bloody watch, it isn't." He could only shake his head as Dominic laughed softly. "Union numptie," he muttered, plucking at the sleeve of Dom's blue coat.

"You look resplendant as well in your little grey frock, you Confederate numbskull," Dominic said, inclining his head.

"Fuck off," Billy grumbled. He was surprised to find that he wasn't really angry with Dom, it was a game between them, one he found himself looking forward to more than he should.

"You fuck off, I've not got the energy for it," Dom retorted, his smile wobbly.

At that moment, the unit's photographer asked them if they'd mind a picture being taken. They looked at each other, shrugged and nodded at the cameraman, who went to get his equipment. A few minutes later, the photographer returned, muttering as he struggled to set up his tripod on the uneven ground. It seemed to take forever to Billy, but finally the plate was prepared and slid into position, and a photograph had been taken of the two men in opposing uniforms sharing a seat.

"All right," Billy said after it was taken, "time to get you back to bed, you're obviously about to fall over."

"You're right," Dominic said equably. "You may have to carry me back like the hero and gentleman you are." He batted his eyelashes at Billy.

"You're so full of shit, Monaghan."

"That's what happens when you're a senator's son. You learn how to talk shit with a smile."

"A senator's son. Now it all makes sense."

"Why they kept you here instead of sending you off to prison?"

"Yes. I figured you were someone important. They don't keep enemy doctors around just for anyone."

"Especially not the personal physician of a colonel."

Billy nodded. "I'll tell you something, Dom. The reason I'm--well. I _was_ \--his personal physician is because I make a tonic for diarrhea and it works. Before that, I was a lowly volunteer doctor from Cumberland County."

"Why did you tell me that?"

"I don't know," Billy admitted. "But I do know it's time to take you back to bed."

"Why Dr. Boyd, that sounded almost romantic!"

Billy shook his head at Dom's irrepressible humour as he stood. "Up you get, Monaghan, I've not got all day to sit around with your sorry arse."

Dom chuckled weakly. "Very well, Dr. Boyd. Take me to bed."

"You don't know when to stop, do you?"

"Sometimes I do," Dom said softly. "Like right now? I can tell you're not really angry, you're just gruff."

"Well, shut it and shift it, then."

"Yes, sir."

Billy didn't comment on that fact that Dominic was right to call him sir because Billy outranked him. Colonel Forrest hadn't said anything, so neither would he. Not even to Dom.

*

19 April 1862 Tennessee 10:28

Dominic entered the tent without announcing himself. Billy looked up from his patient, eyebrow raised. "Come back later, Monaghan, I'm busy at the moment."

"Yes, sir, _Major_ sir."

So Dom had found out somehow and was in fine fettle. Brilliant. "Out."

Dom's eyes narrowed, but he stalked out of the tent. Billy sighed and apologised to his patient, a young private who'd been burned by a campfire. He finished cleaning and dressing the wound and then went in search of Dom. He found him on the stump they'd sat on the week before.

"Why are you in a huff, Dominic?"

"You didn't tell me you were a Major."

"I didn't tell Hildebrand, nor Sherman either. Did you have a point?"

"Excuse me, Dr. Boyd?" A painfully young soldier called nervously, "Colonel Hildebrand is looking for you."

Billy waved him away, his eyes remaining locked with Dom's. "Whilst I'm being interrogated by Hildebrand, just you figure out why you're so angry, eh? We'll finish this conversation later."

*

They never got to have that conversation. Billy followed the young soldier to Colonel Hildebrand's tent, where they were immeditaly sent to General Sherman's tent, outside of which four Confederate soliders milled about uncomfortably. Billy's eyebrows rose, but he held his tongue.

Once inside, he was told that Colonel Forrest had been rescued by group of Confederate soldiers and had been taken safely behind lines where he had immediately demanded the return of his personal physician, one Major William Boyd currently being held by the 77th Ohio Infantry. Lee had negotiated with Grant the release of a certain number of Union prisoners of war in exchange for Major Boyd. A deal had been struck, a small contingent of soldiers had been sent with the Union's POWs, and Major Boyd was to gather his belongings and accompany the Confederate soldiers back immediately.

He was accompanied to his tent to retrieve his bags and escorted out of the camp by Union soldiers who closely watched every move the Confederates made. He checked for Dom, but didn't catch even a glimpse. Next thing he knew, he and the rest of the Confederate soldiers were on their way out of Union territory. Billy took a moment to wonder what might have been had he been kept for longer in the Union camp, then packed it away with the rest of the regrets he would examine should he survive the war.


	5. Chapter 5

3 August 1866 Crossville, Tennessee

Billy swore under his breath when he heard the rapping on the front door of his clinic. He had posted hours, but the people of Crossville knew he'd help them after hours if it was an emergency. He put down his pen, careful not to place the nib near the paper he'd been writing notes on, and headed out front to see who it was.

When he opened the door, he simply stared for a moment; about the last person he'd expected to see standing there was Lieutenant Dominic Monaghan. He recovered after a moment, taking in Monaghan's expensive and well-fitting suit.

"Did you dress up just for me?" he heard himself asking to his utter mortification. Excellent way to begin a conversation after four years, Boyd, he chastised himself.

He didn't know whether he was relieved or not when the guarded look on Dom's face changed into a grin. "I hear that's the done thing when calling on someone."

Billy looked Dom up and down. "You look like you've been following doctor's orders."

"Mother's orders," Dom said, snorting. "My mother makes most doctors look like sleeping kittens."

"Most."

"Not you, Bill. You win any and all grump competitions."

Billy offered a small smile, shaking his head as he stepped back and allowed Dom entrance. "Good to know my place is secured."

"We need to have a conversation, Bill."

"About?" As if he didn't know.

"A little over four years ago, you told me to figure out why I was bothered by the fact that you never told me you were a Confederate major."

"And?"

Dom took a deep breath, and Billy took a mental breath as well. "The thing was, Bill, you didn't trust me. I even told you about my father--do you think that was common knowledge?--but you kept it from me."

"Of course I did, Dom. You were a Union officer, and regardless of anything else we may have shared, that information was--"

"I told _you_ privileged information."

"Why?"

"Because of this," Dom blurted, stepping forward and pressing his lips chastely to Billy's.

Billy tensed and pulled back immediately. "Dom, I don't--"

"You asked," Dom replied, shrugging. He looked uncertain, though; wary.

"But that, Dom? _That_?"

"You felt it too," Dom said, soft yet firm. Like he _knew_. Maybe he did.

"And you suggest what? You being here?"

"We could go west," Dom answered, voice low. "The frontier is desperate for doctors. No one would know us."

"You expect me to just give up my patients and move west?"

"You've been waiting for me, Bill. You might not want to admit it, but you have. Waiting and hoping I'd come. I'm here now. Will you turn me out and have done with me, then?"

Billy's eyes closed as he sighed heavily. He thought about turning Dom down; of a future in Crossville as a bachelor doctor, taking care of patients and having no one to take care of him. It stretched before his mind's eye in an empty, endless trail. He knew he should think more about it, weigh options, but he didn't want to.

"No," he said softly, opening his eyes to meet Dom's intent gaze. "I think I'm done waiting."


End file.
